


Golden Honeysuckle

by januarywren



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Sansa Stark, Alpha Doran Martell, Alpha Oberyn Martell, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bodyguard Sandor Clegane, Breeding Kink, Cunnilingus, Double Penetration, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gratuitous Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Impregnation, Knotting, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, Mates, Mating Bites, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark, Multi, Nesting, No Slash, Obsession, Omega Sansa Stark, Omega Verse, POV Sandor Clegane, PWP, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Pregnancy, Protective Sandor Clegane, Protectiveness, Queen Sansa Stark, Romance, Sansa Stark Needs a Hug, Shameless Smut, Threesome - F/M/M, Triad - Freeform, True Love, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:02:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23103652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/januarywren/pseuds/januarywren
Summary: Sansa was caught between the two men.With every thrust of their hips, she went back and forth between them and was helpless to resist. She tipped her head upward, her cheeks staining red as she saw the mirror above them.They were in the heart of the nest that she had made on their bed, her mates’ robes streamed across the bed, amidst silk sheets and pillows that were drenched in their scent. It made her feel safe as her heat descended, making her nest the only thing she could control.Until she had ridden her pillow, and nearly cried at how little relief she felt -Her mates came soon enough, canceling their Council meeting, to care for their special one. They knew what she needed, both of them touching her as they stripped their clothes off. She needed them, more than she ever had before.“T-Thank you,” Sansa breathed, knowing that her mates would relieve her from the dancing flames inside her. "This is what I need, My Lords -"Only they knew she needed more.Canon AU | Doran and Oberyn care for their mate, Sansa, during her heat.
Relationships: Doran Martell & Sansa Stark, Doran Martell/Sansa Stark, Doran Martell/Sansa Stark/Oberyn Martell, Implied Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark - Relationship, Oberyn Martell & Sansa Stark, Oberyn Martell/Sansa Stark
Comments: 30
Kudos: 320





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [weestarmeggie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weestarmeggie/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did I ever stop writing A/B/O?
> 
> The idea for this came out of nowhere and was _not_ supposed to be a Sandor x Sansa A/B/O...
> 
> I'm really, really pleased with it though - I've fallen down the GoT rabbit hole when it comes to Sansa, and have a fondness for her with Oberyn in particular. It's hard to find stories without his mistress before Sansa involved, and it's just not to my taste. 
> 
> So, why not involve Doran, and have the brothers adore Sansa? :) 
> 
> For my friend weestarmeggie, whose been there so much for me, and is a wonderful person (and writer - go check out her work! You won't regret it!). It isn't jonsa but...it's unrepentant a/b/o smut?? 🤍
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy it! And no, I don't regret the innuendo hidden in the title. 😏🤍 
> 
> PS: Their ages are up for you to decide, whether you want to keep it canon, and only age up Sansa, or have all three of them closer in age. I'm tagging as underage since I was thinking of the canon timeline, however, it's up to you entirely.

Sansa was caught between the two men.

With every thrust of their hips, she went back and forth between them and was helpless to resist. She tipped her head upward, her cheeks staining red as she saw the mirror above them.

They were in the heart of the nest that she had made on their bed, her mates’ robes streamed across the bed, amidst silk sheets and pillows that were drenched in their scent. It made her feel safe as her heat descended, making her nest the only thing she could control. 

Until she had ridden her pillow, and nearly cried at how little relief she felt -

Her mates came soon enough, canceling their Council meeting, to care for their special one. They knew what she needed, both of them touching her as they stripped their clothes off. She needed them, more than she ever had before. 

“T-Thank you,” Sansa breathed, knowing that her mates would relieve her from the dancing flames inside her. "This is what I need, My Lords..." 

Only they knew she needed more. 

Her body felt as if it wasn't her own when her thoughts turned to beg her mates to fuck her, and she whispered that she would do anything that they asked. She would be the best girl, the very, very best -

It was beyond debasement at times, with the positions that they took. Doran would have her on all fours, taking her from the back, while her mouth was full of his brother’s cock. Oberyn would stroke her hair and slowly grind against her mouth, while he and Doran both praised her. They were gentle with her in their own way, despite how they found Sansa was lovely in her submission.

Her body hadn’t been touched by others before, not intimately, as they found during her maiden heat. She had known great violence at the court that she had fled, yet never knew the feel of a man’s lips against hers, nor had she felt a man cup her breast. She was as untouched as a septa, yet the brothers found her receptive to their obsession, their protection, their fucking -

Sansa took everything that they gave her, and more.

At other times Doran would insist on his brother pleasuring her, as she laid with her head in his lap. Doran would hold her hands still while Oberyn delved between her legs, suckling on her swollen cunt as if it were a tender fruit from the garden. She would come, again and again, until she cried from the overstimulation, and how Doran held her still. It was the sweetest torture, the cruelest expression of love -

“We’ll take care of you,” Doran said, his voice lower than she’d ever heard. “Trust us, my sweet one.”

During her maiden heat, they hadn’t teased her, nor brought her to hideous tears as she feared. Sansa had heard as a child the cruel mates that some women were forced to take; mates that denied their omega of being fulfilled during their heats, some even putting a chastity belt on them.

Sansa’s mother had always taught her that what occurred between mates was an act of love, one that would result in a child, if the gods wished it. Sansa had clung to her mother’s skirts as she listened to her speak, often wishing her younger sister, Arya could be with her. Only Arya wasn’t an omega at all, but a beta, the same as Sansa knew that Robb and Bran were.

It was scary to Sansa, the expectations of being an omega, the only one born to her family. Her girlish dreams had filled with brutal alphas, one that took her with gnashing teeth and hideously sharp claws, while at other times she dreamed of a handsome alpha, one who would take her as soundly as the romances that she read, and hid them beneath her bed. She wanted nothing more than to make her family proud, while an innate, buried piece of her wished -

For love between herself and her mate, more than anything else.

Oberyn pinched her rosy teats, before rolling them between his fingers. The feeling made Sansa gasp, with slick dripping between her thighs. 

It was too much -

Yet not enough, _never_ enough, when she was in heat. She felt an ache in her womb that made her want to weep, every instinct that she had, aching for it to be filled. At that thought, further slick poured from her, akin to the almond oil that her mates often rubbed inside of her, ensuring she could take both of them without pain. 

It was different than how she would ache when Joffrey had his knights beat her, and she had horrific bruises for days.

It was different too than after the Hound had taken her away, and they'd lain beneath the stars while her stomach craved food. They had run for months and rationed their supplies, something that Sansa had never experienced before. She hadn't complained then, biting her tongue until it bled, for she knew the sacrifices that the Hound had made for her.

Only Sandor wasn’t there, no -

Every courtier was barred from the royal wing, while Sansa was in heat.

Sandor and the king’s elite guards watched over the wing, never leaving their post from the thick doors until Doran himself ordered them to. Neither he nor his brother would take any chances with their mate, their queen -

They would have no other hear her pitiful cries, nor would they have anyone see the feverish way that she rocked between them. It was addicting to take her, their instincts harsh and possessive. She would never - _could_ never - leave them, they both knew, even if she ever wanted to.

“Please,” Sansa gasped, attempting to widen her legs further.

Only she was small and wanting between them, and her legs wouldn’t move at all. Doran moved them for her, positioning her legs so they wrapped around his brother’s bare waist. They had slowly shown her that there was little shame in nudity, her shift often hidden from her, as they caressed her body freely.

“She longs for our seed, brother,” Oberyn chuckled, his dark gaze meeting hers. “Shall we give it to her?”

“We shall,” Doran murmured, his breath warm against her skin. “We’ll give our pretty mate everything she asks for, anything that she longs for in this world.”

She had fled with the Hound from King's Landing and had stolen away on a ship to Dorne. Sequestered with an alpha, her maiden heat had begun, and Sansa had been delirious when the Hound carried her through the port -

Passed Oberyn, who was intent on visiting a nearby whorehouse.

Sansa’s scent had called to him, as he stalked through the crowd, and found the Hound. He had known when he saw the little bird in the man’s arms, that she was the one -

The one that his mother had foretold he and his brother, Doran, would share.

It had happened before, their great grandfather sharing his mate with another, while their uncle regularly shared betas and omegas alike with his long-time lover. Their kingdom and its history was far different from the North was, where love and its expression was different for them.

And so, the little bird was taken to her cage, where she was laid in her new king’s bed, and the brothers came to worship her. She was helpless between them, keening and grasping the sheets as they descended on her with their languid strokes and heated kisses. They had known how to stroke her swollen lips and paint her body with their honeyed devotion, the reverence one she had never felt before.

In moments of lucidity, Doran had fed her exotic fruit by hand, while Oberyn had whispered sweet things in her ear, amidst bathing her with a cloth in his hand. It was nothing horrid that happened between them, completely unlike the nightmares she had while being kept at Joffrey’s court.

They hadn’t wanted her to suffer and writhe -

She had burst into tears, more than once during her heat, while they patted her head and kissed everywhere, they could reach. She had nothing to fear from them, nor was there something to distrust, as they had knotted her for the first time, and comforted her with purrs until she became lax in their arms. She had found release with them, the sheets soaked with her slick.

“O-Oh!” Sansa cried, her back arching as Oberyn suckled from her teat.

This was her second heat, neither of her mates’ seed taking root during her first. She had come to long for their heated touches and took safety in their possessive concerns for her. It was like the dreams she’d had in childhood, with handmaidens surrounding her, and a handsome prince by her side. She flinched when she remembered her devotion to Joffrey as if he was anything more than a creature come from purgatory itself.

Only she had two men, one a charming prince, and the other, a handsome, and wise king. She tended to the gardens with Oberyn, frequently making love amidst blooming fields, while he read to her after. He shared the stories of their people until her eyes grew heavy and she nodded off in his arms. And with Doran, she learned how he tended to their kingdom like she to her gardens, as he spent countless hours pouring over maps and missives, meeting with diplomats, and heard firsthand the concerns of the people. He was not an idle king, nor an inattentive one, as he often lifted her on to his oak desk, and lapped between her thighs. She would tangle her hands in his air, and buck her hips against him; moaning his name until she came.

“ _Such a sweet mate you are_ ,” Doran often purred. It never failed to amuse him how she blushed and stuttered at the sight of him with her slick glistening on his very face. She was still innocent despite how she reveled in her mates, and the thought made his heart weep. “ _I will always adore your gifts, Sansa_.”

She was more than a bird in a cage, as they sought to make her happy. They never wanted her to leave the palace walls, instead tempting her with anything they could bring. Sansa had numerous birds that she delighted to watch and sing to in the aviary, while she had a young terrier that was never far from her side. She learned the dialect used at court from one of her close ladies in waiting, alongside learning to play the harp.

Her hands were never rough from misuse as a commoners were, and her skin never burned beneath the harsh sun. She had her own pools to bathe in; one that had a constant stream of hot water piped to it, while the other held a cooler temperature. It was the first that Doran fucked her in, bending her across the side so she lay against the mosaic tile, while he had her from behind.

Neither he nor his brother had mated, nor made children for all of Oberyn’s previous visits to brothels. They both had been waiting for their mate, the one that their mother had sworn would come to them, and share them both. They would be equal in her eyes, their mother whispered, and she would bind them to winter, as they bound her to summer in turn.

Neither of her mates had shielded her from the truth when it came from the spies that Doran used. Her family was gone, and Winterfell had fallen to the Lannister’s - Sansa was the last of her House. Even her bastard brother, Jon, hadn’t been spared, as it was said that he had been murdered at his post, and his body thrown across the Wall.

She had wept for days without ceasing, until Oberyn had cradled her close, and had her drink water from his cupped hands. She had been parched, the fragile skin of her lips cracking, and he had lavished her with care. Both he and his brother knew grief, Oberyn confessed, as they had horrifically lost their sister and her children. “You aren’t alone, Sansa,” Oberyn had whispered, and even in her grief, Sansa had believed him.

She had wanted to live, the same as she had wanted to die, and join the side of her family again, her parents, her siblings; Jon, Robb, Arya, Bran, and Rickon. Oh! She wanted them all (especially her missing sister, whose name made her weep once more. Was she safe? Was she - no, Sansa couldn’t think of it anymore). 

And yet in Dorne, she had a chance to make a family anew.

Her mates bathed her in silk and jewels, their brutal claiming marks ever displayed on her flawless skin. She was known throughout their court, as their queen with flaming hair, and eyes as enchantingly bright and stark as the ocean. She had a graceful manner, though she had a fear of when crowds pressed near and attempted to touch her. 

It seemed that Sansa had an innate gift for drawing people in, as Doran and Oberyn had both seen. Children and adults alike flocked near her, and Sansa often had a kind word for each of them. She was the best of her House, and made courtiers more open to the North, though they wished for her to stay as their fairytale queen.

Nor had her faithful hound abandoned her, as Sandor became her sworn-shield. He was quick to scowl when others came near her, though he knew well enough how to heel to her mates.

For both Oberyn and Doran often kept her well fucked and, in their bed, with hickeys covering her neck, and her hands bound above her head. She was irresistible when she begged, wanting nothing more than for them to _own_ her -

Devour her, if they could.

Doran slipped his hand down to her thatch of curls, resting his palm there. He knew that his sweet mate needed more, and crooked his fingers inside her; able to reach the places that she couldn’t.

“M-My king,” Sansa whimpered, and Doran smirked, as only she could make him. It was the look of a predator that knew they had their prey in their grasp, and he thrust deeper into her.

"My Queen," Doran purred.

She keened, a high-pitched, wail from the ecstasy coursing through her veins.

Sansa’s cunt was brimming with their cocks, as they held her between them, her slick staining their shafts. They often stretched her with their fingers or their tongue, working her together until she became as weak as a kitten in their hold. 

“Don’t forget about me,” Oberyn teased.

He pressed close enough to his mate to feel her heart quicken and wrapped his arms around her waist. Sansa was small even compared to the other females at court, yet between him and his brother, it felt as if she was fragile enough to break between them.

Oberyn had asked his brother once if she could take them both -

“ _Wouldn’t you know, Oberyn_?” his brother had replied, with the dry wit that only those who knew him well, saw. Doran was far more restrained than his younger brother, his solemn nature befitting a king.

The partners he'd taken during previous Ruts were well paid and discreet, never boasting about his prowess as Oberyn’s lovers did. “ _You’ve shared enough lovers with others before_.”

He had, Oberyn freely admitted to, before he had met Sansa. He was free with his charm and his attention and was beloved throughout the kingdom for his pretty words, and knowing touch. Yet Sansa was different, she was -

“Your ours, Sansa,” Oberyn cooed, and both brothers felt as she trembled between them. “ _Ours_ -“

She was the first and only lover that they would share with another. Neither brother felt jealous as they watched Sansa caress the other, and they felt _right_ when their cocks thrust, side by side, inside her. It was an intimacy that neither brother could imagine with a mere friend or another patron, if they had bonded with someone besides Sansa.

No, she was only for them, as if she had been made for them.

(She had.)

Their release was building, as the three panted and writhed as if they had become one. It was a fever shared among them; the heat that burned inside Sansa replicated in her mates. They would devour her whole if they could, keeping her in the nest that she had made, until she was round with child, and aching for them always.

Sansa tipped her head back, moaning as Doran sucked on her gland. He and his brother had claimed her as theirs during her maiden heat, her gland marked first by Doran, and then by Oberyn.

And they allowed her to mark them in turn, as they promised themselves to her. It was a rare thing to do, alphas often leaving themselves unmarked, so they were able to mate with another, besides their marked omega.

“We’ll never abandon you,” Doran promised, and Oberyn had stroked her pretty cunt, allowing her slick to cover his fingertips. They both felt the craving inside Sansa for their praise, as she came to trust that they were being honest with her, and not hiding behind court flattery.

No, they meant every word of their praise and would remind her often, when she lay beneath them. Or beside them, with her hand tucked in each of theirs, or when she was astride one of them, and allowing their cock to thrust inside her. They both ached for their little mate, the same as they felt she longed for them in turn, and they took her often when she wasn’t in heat.

“Never,” Oberyn echoed, pressing his fingers against Sansa’s lips, and coaxing her to suckle. Her lips opened for him, and his fingers slid into her warm, and wet mouth.

Sansa’s eyes fluttered closed, as their knots swelled inside her. She relished the feeling of fullness and knew if she lay her hands against her pelvis, she would feel them inside her. ‘Please Maiden, let this take,’ she prayed, her dreams filled with a nursery full of dark-haired children, with Tully blue eyes.

Behind her, Doran prayed the same, while Oberyn watched as his mate’s eyes fluttered closed. He knew that she would sleep until they were able to slip their members from her, and the brilliant heat inside her flared once more. Sansa wouldn’t leave their rooms for days yet, and he too, hoped that their seed would take.

Their pretty girl deserved nothing less than to become a mother.

“Yours,” she whispered, knowing the words to be true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me: https://januarywren.wixsite.com/januarywren 🌹 
> 
> https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by Grammarly! 🦝🖤


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything has been so difficult and awful lately, here's some hurt/comfort and fluff to ease that. 😩❤ My mom lost her job today and we have no insurance, the company she was working for decided to stop it tonight, at midnight. My dad is getting an emergency root canal surgery done on Thursday - it's just all too much. 
> 
> Stay safe everyone, and thank you for reading. ❤

“My, my,” Oberyn chuckled, the sound like golden honey dripping across her skin. “Lemon cakes are your favorite, aren’t they?”

Sansa nodded, her cheeks turning pink.

Her lover had surprised her when he'd arrived at her room, with a plate filled with lemon cakes, and the cat that he'd gotten for her at his heels. (Sansa had named the Turkish Angora "Jeyne" after the friend she dearly missed and found the cat's sweet, and playful manner the same as her namesake.)

Oberyn had sprawled beside her on the plush, feather bed and they had chatted about his day. It was a domestic scene that he hadn’t had with a lover before, and Oberyn had delighted at feeding her the lemon cake by hand. She was like a little bird, the way that she took small pieces from him, and sugar dusted her lips.

“You’re lovely,” Oberyn murmured, chastely pressing his lips against hers. She mewed as he licked the sugar from her lips, sweetness dancing on his tongue. “I’ve never had a lemon cake before,” he hummed as he broke their kiss, yet held her close against him. “I confess that I can see the appeal.”

He would order the chefs to make them often, Oberyn decided, so they would always have Sansa’s favorite treat on hand. He knew that his brother would agree, the moment that he watched how Sansa sighed in delight and had sugar dusted across her lips, and her cheeks when she nibbled on one.

“I would order a thousand lemon trees planted here,” Oberyn’s fingers tangled in her hair, “You would have a lemon grove of your own, my little wife, one that no one could enter.”

“Including yourself?” Sansa asked, a teasing lilt to her voice.

“Ah, but we could have such fun in your lemon grove,” Oberyn replied. “If you allowed me in, I would climb the trees, and find the sweetest, ripest lemon for you…”

He rolled on his back, slowly pulling her with him. “Though the sweetest fruit is here,” he continued, slipping his hand down to cup her mound. Sansa inhaled, pressing her thighs against his hand. “If only you could taste your nectar,” Oberyn mused, “one could consider it the nectar of the gods above.”

His little wife was far less pious than she had been as a girl, as the Hound that shadowed her revealed. “ _She chirps less about the Seven and more about you_ ,” Clegane had sneered, “ _and your brother_ , _Your Grace_.”

Oberyn had always preferred his servants to have a fair amount of cheek, yet Clegane had a never-ending amount of it. “ _Heel_ ,” he’d told the Hound, and smirked when the man returned to his wine. There was only so much grace he would allow him, or any man, regardless of whether they held his wife’s favor or not.

It was jealousy, Oberyn knew, that the Hound felt when he watched himself or Doran with their precious wife. Sansa had said that Clegane was one of the only kind people to her in King's Landing, aside from Littlefinger who Oberyn knew had favored Sansa's mother. Doran knew it too and allowed Clegane to stay as their wife's guard.

Still, it didn’t prevent him from being sent away, when Clegane nipped at their heels.

“You can’t mean that,” Sansa whispered, her cheeks flaming.

She was untouched in nature still, the omega that had drawn both he and his brother in. Her gland bore both their mating marks, just as her cunt knew them both, as they lavished her body with attention. She had been scared and docile after her virgin heat when they had laid claim to her. She hadn’t yet realized that mating wasn’t a game of predator and prey, as it was in King’s Landing.

It was a new world that Sansa found herself in, the kingdom of Dorne, and her place there, unlike any that she had known. When Oberyn saw her fire kissed hair streaming across the pillow, and her wide-eyed gaze, it reminded him of Death’s fair maiden, after she was taken to his kingdom. Only Sansa was without a raging mother, one sending the gods into an uproar over the kidnapping of her daughter.

No - Sansa had no one.

"I do, my little wife," Oberyn assured her, "My brother would agree that you are the finest delicacy if he were here now.” Doran often spent time apart from them, busying himself with council members, and foreign diplomats.

The nights, however, were his alone…

Sansa brushed her lips against his, before moving upward to his fine cheekbones, and the bridge of his nose. Oberyn spoiled her with his company, often staying at her side during the day. It was rare that she was alone, Sandor always appearing when she needed him.

And the nights, the starlit nights, were spent in the arms of Dorne’s king.

“ _Forgive me for being apart from you, sweetheart_ ," Doran would whisper in her ear while drawing his arms around her. He was serious and known for being harsh, while Oberyn delighted in being charming and lithe. Yet both acted as if they adored her, a possibility that made Sansa falter.

It was far from the brutality that she had known before, under Joffrey’s cruel treatment; one that her body still bore the scars for. Neither of her mates ever raised a hand to her, and she knew they were often cautious in their movements, after seeing her flinch when Doran gestured, or Oberyn moved to hold her. “ _I-I’m sorry_ ,” she’d said, over and over again.

And yet they’d always told her there was little need for her apologies, Oberyn pressing his index finger against her trembling lips. “ _Shh_ ,” he’d gently chided, “ _You’re our equal, Sansa, our sweet mate, our little wife_.”

Equal -

Sansa hardly knew the meaning of the word, as determined as her mates were to teach her.

Dorne treated females differently from the other kingdoms, recognizing females as equal to their male counterparts. Female alphas weren't shunned for their lack of male parts, nor were omegas forced into submission, regardless of their gender. Mates were to respect one another, if not love, and they could lose a hand for striking their mate.

“ _You’re safe here_ ,” Doran often told her, and Sansa found herself wanting to believe him. “ _You will always be safe here, Sansa, I promise_.”

Sansa rocked her hips against her mate, reveling at the excitement she felt from him.

“Should we surprise Doran?” Oberyn teased, slipping his arm around her waist. “Should I present you in your shift, with pretty cries falling from your lips, and slick dripping down your legs? That would be a sight for Stannis’s representatives,” he nuzzled his cheek against hers, shamelessly inhaling her scent.

It whispered of heady desire and excitement, a feeling that was mirrored in his own pheromones.

“Dangerous,” Sansa whispered, “You’re dangerous, Oberyn.”

"More than Cersei and her brother?" Oberyn replied, caressing her side. She relaxed into his touch, for once not stiffening as she often did when the Lannisters were mentioned. "And the _blessed_ offspring they’ve made -"

"Oberyn!" Sansa chided as if anyone would dare to eavesdrop on the Red Viper.

Oberyn chuckled at the idea, and his mate’s unfaltering reaction, the same as when he’d told her of Joffrey’s parentage. Of course, he knew Cersei’s filthy, little secrets, and he found that he wanted Sansa to know them too if only so she wouldn't fear the silly bastard. 

“You’re safe,” Oberyn murmured, drawing his hips against hers. He felt her slick seeping into his robe and purred at the feeling. His little mate enticed him more than any other ever had. “You’re safe and you’re _ours_ , little one.”

“And you’re mine,” Sansa said softly.

“I am,” Oberyn agreed, knowing that his brother would say the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me: https://januarywren.wixsite.com/januarywren 🌹 
> 
> https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by Grammarly! 🦝🖤


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "...He’s going to be in conflict, I think. I think he wants to look after Sansa and totally understands her position, but he’s also in a position [of] — if he steps in, he is risking his life… I think in the first season you can see with Sandor and Sansa, that there’s a frustration with Sandor trying to get through to Sansa that it’s not all fairytale and true knights and there’s so much badness in the world..." - Rory McCann
> 
> I think Sandor's motivation would stay the same, regardless of whether Sansa was 'safe' or not, something I wanted to reflect in this chapter. This is probably the only unrequited Sandor/Sansa chapter I'l write since I love them together. 😭❤
> 
> And thank you for reading, it means so much to me! Feel free to reach out on Tumblr or Discord, I'm always around for a chat. ❤

Sandor was the first one the Little Bird told.

She found him as he lingered outside her rooms, with a flask in hand.

Her small hands wrapped around his, as she tugged the flask away from his mouth. “Sandor,” Sansa chided gently, her eyes meeting his. “It isn’t the afternoon yet.”

“I’m no ser, waiting until I can fuck off to some tavern” Sandor sneered, though his tone lacked its usual bite. Sansa smiled at the familiar words, and he felt warmth roll across his chest, the only flame that he wasn’t afraid of. “I’ll stay here, if you allow it, your _Grace_ ”

He let her pull the flask away, and place it on the marble floor beside them.

“Am I not your Little Bird still?” Sansa asked.

Sandor scowled, his response like harsh nettles as they stuck to his tongue. She wasn't, he longed to say, ever since he'd seen her fucked and mated by the very masters of Dorne. Her life was inside the kingdom walls, ones that Sandor knew he would never breach. It was only his position as her personal guard that allowed him near, as he watched her spread her wings and soar.

The thought made him want to sneer, as he heard Joffrey’s familiar words; “ _Do you think anyone would adore you for your poetry, Hound? There’s only one use for your mouth -_ “

He was far less than other men, yet far more still.

“Your Grace -“

“None of that,” Sansa said, shaking her head. “You’re my closest friend, Sandor. My only friend here.”

“A pity that is,” Sandor replied, thinking of the attendants that surrounded her. It was everything that she deserved, as her mates made her queen. Yet -

He couldn’t forget how they’d escaped in the night, both of them leaving a world behind that no one in Dorne would understand. Her scars had faded as his never would, yet he knew she bore scars still; ones that made her tremble when the courtiers pressed near, and how she always tucked a bit of her meal in her pocket; a few dates here, a biscuit there, before thrusting them into his hands as she retired. They both remembered their hunger when Sandor had spirited her away from King's Landing.

He knew her in ways her mates never would, regardless of their mark on her neck.

It was this thought that kept Sandor steady, as he listened outside her door during the nights that they visited her. It was the Little Bird's cries that filled the hallways, as Sandor and every guard heard her sweet cries and her gasps of delight, as both of her mates had their way with her. It was widely rumored that the royal brothers were insatiable for their mate, beyond reason.

Sandor had beaten one guard bloody, who had agreed with the rumor; remarking that “ _any would wish to revel between the girl’s legs_ -“ and the guard had lost his post near the imperial chambers. Oberyn often regarded Sandor the same as one would a mangled, old hound as if he were amused in Sansa's devotion to him. Doran was harder to read, his gaze rarely meeting Sandor's, yet he knew that he would never be allowed near Sansa if either brother objected.

He bent his head nearer hers, as she regarded his scars without fear. "Am I not yours?" Sansa asked as if she were a young girl at court again, entirely innocent of the natures that men had. She was grown in many ways, yet Sandor remembered the uncertain tilt of her chin and the way she had tugged at her sleeves. She was uncertain and proud, and kinder than anyone else, and the court had immediately decided to devour her.

Her kind was never welcome in the world that Sandor knew then, not while the Lannisters ruled. She was weakened by the cunt between her legs, and the innocent look in her eyes, as if she were oblivious to how horrid the world could be. Sandor’s hand strayed to his scar, the pads of his fingers skimming the ruined flesh there. He learned the truth of the world in a brutal fashion, the same as Sansa had.

“Aye,” Sandor said, unable to lie to her. “You are, Little Bird.”

He guarded her as no one else did, his position higher than the guards Doran assigned her. He and his brother, Oberyn, took little chance with her safety, rarely allowing her outside the castle walls. She was a little bird in her cage again, only this time a gilded one, with adoring owners.

Sandor hated it all.

Her intricate braids brushed against his chin, as she stood on the tips of her toes to bring her face closer to his. She unnerved him in ways that bloodshed and dancing flames never had, as he stood taut before her. “May I tell you something, Sandor?”

He jerked his head in agreement, never expecting the words she said next -

Her hands circled his wrist, as she brought it down to rest on her stomach. There he felt a nearly imperceptible swell, one that he recognized as the end of his dreams, and solidified his desire to stay with her. "It’s been two months now,” Sansa whispered, a rosy pink emerging on her cheeks. “I thought it was too early to tell but -“

Her pheromones swirled on his tongue, a tanginess to her scent that hadn’t been there before. “You’re the first one to know,” Sansa admitted, as she released his hand. His fingers spread across her stomach still, as if he could feel the life that fluttered within her. “Do you…do you think they will be pleased?”

Sandor snorted, unable to resist doing so. "Of course, they will, Little Bird. Only a foul cunt would -" he broke away, as he saw the look on her face, "would be displeased," he finished, knowing that he would knock them upside the head if they reacted poorly. He was damned to follow his Little Bird regardless of where she went and would sacrifice his hand, or his head for her.

He had little interest in the whores that freely filled the kingdom, and rarely took leave away from his post. There were few guards that he trusted near Sansa, though he mingled among the barracks and through the castle often enough to know how well-regarded she was. Her sweetness was alluring, the same as her empathetic nature was, and stories soon spread of her kind word, and actions. Still, Sandor trusted few and had fewer still expectations of her safety, knowing how quickly attitudes could change toward royalty.

Gods, had he not thought Joffrey was a charming if imperious little boy at first?

There were thoughts he would never put into words, the same as he was loath to pursue the violence that burned within his veins. It was a poison, one as pungent as Stranger’s shit, that flowed within him; one that he couldn’t escape from. Nor would he, as he followed in the last Stark’s wake.

(‘ _Is that why you sleep outside her door, the dog that you are_?’ Joffrey’s voice taunted, ‘ _Are you a bitch in heat, Hound_? _Should I release you into the kennels, and let the true hounds have their way?_ ’)

Sansa nibbled on her bottom lip, as she pondered his words. "I'll tell them tonight," she said before her eyes met his again. "Will you stay with me? I -" she swallowed, his eyes straying to her throat. "I always feel safer when you're near."

They both knew how quickly Joffrey’s attitude had changed, especially toward Sansa, as she was his plaything then. For as long as Sandor lived, he would regret not stealing her away sooner; before she ever had a mark on her fair skin, and tears streaming down her cheeks. It wasn’t the way of the world, not the one that Sandor had once known.

It was one that Sansa's mates seemed to know and adhered to, though Sandor had little trust for either of them. He minded his distance from them, the same as he had Cersei and her sniveling husband, and loathsome brother. Only Doran and Oberyn were the same as any lamprey; sly and slippery in ones’ hold, always finding a way to make their keeper let go. It ensured their survival, both in politics and in the kingdom of Dorne, where some were displeased with their rule.

Yet even Sandor knew Dorne was far better for Sansa and himself, as warm and brimming with life as it was. It was one of the few places where Sansa was safe from the Lannisters, and far from those that sought to use her; like the cunt, Littlefinger. And if Sansa was safe, Sandor knew that he had to content himself with staying behind her, as he’d sworn his oath to her and her alone. And, Sandor supposed, any child that came from her.

“Aye,” Sandor said gruffly, “You know that I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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